Absit Invidia
by Zefyria Nuva
Summary: A primary mass relay has been activated on the edges of Citadel space, without the Council's blessing...and something is coming through. Whether that something bears ill will toward the inhabitants of Citadel space remains to be seen... /AU\
1. Prologue to World Conquest

Good evening, and welcome!

This story is most definitely a work in progress. I'm plotting and making things up as I go, trying to tie everything together and make it all into one solid whole. That said, I hope you enjoy reading it, and forgive me if I make any glaring errors.

This story is set AU to both fandoms. On the Mass Effect side, this takes place during the same decade the game is set, but the plot of the game just doesn't exist. The Normandy's mission to Eden Prime went well enough, with Nihilus' reccomendation Commander Shepard became the first human Spectre, and the galaxy continued on as it should have. On the Transformers side...well, there's a _lot_ of stuff that's different. You'll have to wait and see. 83

* * *

**Prologue to World Conquest**

In all of his years as captain, Niiras'Faron vas Rezna had never seen or heard anything like this.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the ship for what felt like the millionth time. He had never been a superstitious person, but his instinct had rarely led him astray—and even before the first transmission had come to them, that instinct had been telling him something was wrong.

The ship was easily twice as large as any dreadnought, far outclassing their tiny frigate. It radiated _massive_ amounts of heat, more than any ship should have been able to generate without lethal consequences for its crew. And something about it sent shivers down his spine. As silly as it seemed, the thing just _looked_ ominous. The architecture looked strange, alien to his eyes—and he had seen the ships of every starfaring race in the galaxy. This one was all sharp curves and jutting angles, its purple-plated hull scorched black in countless places. A survivor of many battles... It was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

"Captain, I think they're hailing us again."

Niiras tore his gaze from the windows. "Put them through."

His communications officer pressed a button on his console, and the message—if it could be called a message—echoed across the bridge. The collection of sound, mechanical whirrs and beeps, was incomprehensible. It certainly wasn't Galactic Basic, and it didn't match any other alien language in their database. It _could_ have been some kind of code, but it wasn't quarian, and his language expert was still working to decode it. There was only one thing any of them could be absolutely positive of: The transmission had been beamed to them from the ship hovering in orbit before them.

The message ended abruptly, and Niiras turned to his decryptor. "Any luck this time?"

"None at all." She shook her head, frustration obvious in her voice. "I mean, _someone_ must be on board if they're sending us a transmission, and if it was broadcast over multiple frequencies the ship _has_ to be hailing us, but as far as I can tell the sounds doesn't match any language in _existence,_ which is ridiculous, because it _obviously_ exists, but—"

"Lyza." Niiras kept his voice steady. "Focus, please."

Lyza ducked her head and mumbled an apology, eyes never leaving her omnitool. "Well...I, umm...I just don't know, sir. I'd need more time."

"We don't _have_ more time. We have to rendezvous with the flotilla—they won't exactly wait for us." Niiras straightened, looking to his comm officer. "Koor, initiate a return transmission along the same frequency." He waited until Koor nodded, then spoke in Basic, his voice ringing with command. "Unknown ship, this is Captain Niiras'Faron vas Rezna nar Tesleya. You have hailed us on this frequency, but we cannot translate or decrypt your message. Please respond in a known language of Citadel space and declare your intentions, or we will move on. End transmission."

The transmission was followed by a long silence. Every member of his crew remained still—even the anxious Lyza remained remarkably quiet.

Waiting.

Finally, Niiras exhaled (he hadn't even realized he was holding his breath). "That's it, then. Get us out of here, Lukai. The nearest mass relay should only be a few—"

Then the first blast hit them.


	2. Waking Up

Not much to say here, except welcome back! Hope you enjoy this next chapter, and keep coming back for more!

* * *

**Waking Up**

"How is she doing?"

"Still in pretty poor condition, but at least she's stable now. It's a miracle we got to her in time."

"Any idea what happened yet?"

"None. I can't exactly _ask_ her, she hasn't woken up yet."

"Well, get her awake."

"Working on it, boss."

The voices swirled in and out as she did. They weren't familiar, as far as she could tell...but then, that wasn't saying much. Nothing made much sense to her right now. A fog had descended over her mind, obscuring all but the most fleeting glimpses of thought. Her sensory input was even less trustworthy; sometimes she was in utter darkness, sometimes she was blinded by piercing light. When they were present, the voices stretched and warped, as though someone were spinning a dial on her omnitool and changing the frequencies. Sometimes she felt nothing, as though her entire body had dissolved into weightless air; sometimes fire erupted across her body, and had she been able to, she would have screamed. Now was one of the good times—she could feel her body close around her, but there was no sting or burn in it, just a dull ache to remind her it was present.

That ache began to prod her brain into some groggy, sluggish pretext of awareness. Dim thoughts began to rise up from the murky depths, only to slip away the moment she grasped for them. Something about this place...it was different somehow from what she knew. The air felt different. Smelled different.

It was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle without half the pieces. Things just didn't add up.

"Was that—?"

"Looks like."

"Well, back up and let me do my job!"

Something touched her skin. Soft hands working their way up her arm, across her chest, on either side of her neck. Pressing veins, reading pulses. A doctor, then, but why was she with a doctor?

A firm grip on her wrist. Too many fingers, too thick to be a quarian hand. She wasn't home. Where _was_ she?

"Yeah, her heartbeat's definitely speeding up. If she isn't awake already, she should be soon."

She tried to pull away, but her muscles gave only a feeble twitch. Alarm shot through her as she struggled against the weight of her own body. This wasn't right. She shouldn't feel like this, something had happened. Something was wrong.

Her eyes snapped open, and she was immediately blinded by the harsh fluorescent light overhead. The air smelled empty and mechanical, as though it had been fed through countless filters before entering the room. She was now painfully aware that, aside from the cloth draped over her, she was completely bare—and more than embarrassing her, that thought scared her half to death.

"Slow down there." The hands pressed down on her shoulders (_bare_ shoulders!), easily pushing her back against the table. "You can't start pushing yourself right away, you're still _very_ sick."

"S-sick?" Her voice came out as a weak, hoarse croak. No wonder she felt so horrible! She could feel her lungs beginning to strain for air as she tried not to panic. How had this _happened?_ She'd been safe at home, working like always on the Rezna, and nothing was wrong...

Oh.

"Your suit was compromised in about fifty places. No telling what you were exposed to before we got to you. Between that and whatever happened to your ship, it's a miracle you're alive at all." The doctor was working her way down her arms, checking the IV and the data nodes connected to her skin. "We've got this room as clean as we could possibly make it, so you'll be okay until we can get you expert treatment."

"Who are you?" The second voice came from across the room. It took some effort, but she managed to tilt her head enough to see—not that it mattered, since, like the doctor, this second figure was also concealed behind a biohazard suit. She could only assume this was for her own protection, not theirs, which she was thankful for...but it also meant that she had no idea who she was speaking to.

"I...am..." Speaking was almost as difficult as remembering; her throat felt swollen and scratchy, like someone had run a wire brush through it. "...Lyza. Where...?"

The second figure moved up to the edge of the cot, and she allowed her muscles to go slack again. Now that he was closer, she could almost see his face through the tinted visor, and though it wasn't very clear, there was no doubt that he was turian. "This is my ship—you're safe here. We're en route to the Citadel. Once we arrive, we'll get a professional in here to take care of you."

"We're still a few days out, but you'll be fine until we get there." The doctor touched her forehead, and Lyza caught a glimpse of a frowning asari through the visor before she turned away. "Don't even think about moving around. You aren't anywhere close to well yet."

As if. It was hard enough to keep her eyes open—there was no way Lyza was even going to consider getting up. She let her eyes slide shut, trying to let her tensed, aching muscles relax. There was really no other choice but to trust them...after all, they had her at a distinct disadvantage. And anyway, had they born any ill will toward her, they wouldn't have rescued her in the first place.

The turian nodded to them both. "I need to get back to the bridge before Hawk and Acrobat get into another argument." The asari snorted under her breath, but said nothing under his reproachful look. Then he turned his gaze to Lyza, and even through that tinted visor, she could feel him inspecting her closely.

"Sit tight, and don't worry. Anora isn't half as scary as she looks."

"Thanks, boss," the asari said, rolling her eyes as the turian glided toward the airlock. "You really know how to compliment a lady." He made no response, but Lyza could almost see him give the turian equivalent of a smile before the door hissed shut behind him.

"Spectres," Anora huffed, adjusting the IV again. "Honestly. They act like they can say anything and get away with it. Well, I guess they _can,_ but that doesn't mean they _should._"

A Spectre? Lyza fought back the fog that threatened to sweep her under again—there was something important here that she wasn't getting. Not that she wasn't grateful for it, but what was a Spectre doing out here in the middle of nowhere? "Who...is he?"

"Jheran? Oh, he's nobody important. Just an old codger who's been running around doing the Council's dirty work for more years than anyone cares to remember." Anora grinned. "At least, that's what he'll tell you. What he _won't_ mention is that he's probably one of the best agents out there. I still haven't figured out exactly how old he is, but man, has he been around!"

An _experienced_ Spectre. It couldn't be a coincidence, there was no such thing. But she couldn't get herself to focus and think, to figure out why. The darkness was reaching out again to smother her in its depths, the pieces all falling down into the abyss, and what was that asari about to do to her?

"Hey, relax, it's alright. This is just a sedative to get you back to sleep, so you won't feel what I need to do next." Anora smiled, and Lyza found herself listening and believing, because it meant she didn't have to think too hard about what else might be in that syringe. She didn't want to think much at all right now...which was bad for some reason, but she didn't feel much bothered to figure out why. "This is going to hurt, but you'll only feel it until it knocks you out. Sleep tight, kiddo."

Sleep sounded to her like a very good idea. Lyza let her eyes drift shut, and the darkness fell over her like a thick blanket, warm and soft. There was a sharp prick in her arm, a moment of white fire lancing across her eyelids—and then nothing at all.

o - o - o

When Lyza woke again, the lights were dim, but her mind was clear.

She remembered everything, with none of the difficulty or swirling uncertainty she'd been a victim of before. Her name was Lyza'Yal vas Rezna nar Kyre. She was an important member of their small ship, decoding and encoding messages to and from all sources. Her captain had told her many times that she was an expert with codes and languages, far and above the best translator he had ever seen. He had trusted her with even the most important things, things that should have been for his eyes alone—and some things no mere civilian living onboard, not even the ship council, should have been allowed to see.

The ship.

The transmissions.

The attack.

That silent, ominous dreadnought had attacked them...and somehow, she had survived.

Lyza stared at the metal ceiling. It hovered much higher above her head than she was accustomed to, by a good three or four feet. A painful reminder that she was no longer home...and never would be again. The Rezna was lost somewhere out in the emptiness of space, Ancestors knew where. And the people who lived and worked on it...what were the chances that any of them had survived?

She had to hope, though, didn't she? There was nothing else to do but hope, not while she was too weak to even lift her head. She had to hope that there were others who had survived the attack, as she had. There was no way she could be any kind of exception...especially not in a matter of life and death.

No—she couldn't be alone. She wasn't alone. There _had _to be others.

The airlock opened with a sudden, soft hiss. Lyza would have tensed, had her muscles responded—as it was, her vision went momentarily white with terror. The lights should have flashed on, right? But instead they went dimmer, letting darkness creep up around the edges of her vision. A rasping, mechanical breath filled the room around her, deafening in the silence. There was something here, someone in the corners of the room where she couldn't turn her head to see—

A black figure rose over her, towering, lurching, bending against the ceiling like some crooked, macabre mannequin drawn up on strings until it arched over her and filled in her entire field of vision, creaking, whirring, blinding pinpoints of blue light blazing suddenly down at her from the blackness, sparkle of white, an icon blazing red like human blood—

Her eyes rolled back, and she fainted dead away.


End file.
